


Last Stop

by Watching_The_Bees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: College Student Castiel, Driver Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watching_The_Bees/pseuds/Watching_The_Bees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every night, Dean's bus route runs late. Every night, Castiel's studies in the library run late. When Castiel's routine lands him on Dean's bus every day, Dean tries to figure out what makes him more alluring than every other brooding stranger riding the bus. And Castiel, well, Castiel is just along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Dean didn’t mind driving a bus. After all, he liked driving, he liked people, and he certainly liked being able to put aside money for Sam, no matter how many times his little brother tried to refuse his help. Dean didn’t mind - he even liked it sometimes. The best, he found, was late at night, but not so late that the drunks started stumbling aboard. Around eleven or twelve, his bus always seemed a little empty. It was after the commuter evening rush, but before the bars and nightclubs closed their doors. And, while Dean always had his share of assholes in the public transit system, they seemed to be fewer during that time of night. In fact, he began to notice that some of them - one of them - was actually rather nice.

Dean first met the blue-eyed stranger sometime in the beginning of August. Standing alone at the bus stop in a long tan trench coat despite the lack of rain, the stranger didn’t seem bothered by the heat. Dean scissored open the doors, letting the undeniably attractive man onto the near empty bus. Most people brushed past Dean as if he were invisible - a ghost that drove the bus - but not this one. He gave Dean a very soft smile and a nod in greeting. Surprised and more than a little thrilled, Dean smiled back.

Even though he could have chosen nearly any seat on the bus, the man sat towards the front, situated so that Dean caught a glimpse of him every time he turned to check the side mirrors on the opposite side. Dean hadn’t noticed a moment ago, but the blue-eyed stranger carried a backpack, which he presently opened, pulling out a tattered book and reading intently.

Dean checked his mirrors far more often than usual on his way to the next few stops.

 

* * *

 

When the man got off the bus that first day, Dean figured that would be the last he saw of him. It was a pleasant surprise, then, when Dean pulled up to that same bus stop as the day before and was greeted with another smile and a nod. This time, Dean’s answering smile was less shocked surprise and more just… happy.

It didn’t take long before Dean learned the man’s schedule. Every weekday, he would get on the bus at 11:45, ride four stops to another part of town, then head off. Where he went after that, Dean would probably never know. Even so, it was fascinating enough to watch the man out of the corner of his eye every day. Dean felt like a stalker, but he couldn’t help but wonder what book the man was reading that day, or why there seemed to be dark circles under his eyes on a particular night, or why he was glaring at the window as if it had personally offended him.

Dean wanted to know it all.

It had been about three weeks since the man had first started riding the bus when Dean finally spoke to him for the first time. It was weird that it had taken so long; usually Dean was the type to engage in conversation, but there never seemed to be a good time. The man was always either busy or lost in thought, and Dean didn’t want to disturb him.

On one surprisingly cool night, however, the stranger’s meditative stare out the window had turned from thought to just plain sleep. When Dean pulled up to the man’s regular stop, he opened the doors, but no one got off. Granted, there were only about three people on the bus at the time, but the man with the trench coat always got off here. As Dean glanced back to find him sleeping, he couldn’t help but smile a little as he pushed himself up out of his seat, taking the few steps necessary to reach the first row.

“Hey,” Dean said, shaking the man’s shoulder. He tried not to notice how firm and strong it seemed. “Hey, man. Wake up.”

Dean was rewarded with those now familiar blue eyes gazing blearily up at him. Then, the man started, looking around sharply. “I-“ he began.

“It’s okay,” Dean laughed. “You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. This is your stop, right?”

As the man looked out the window, Dean took the opportunity to appreciate his features close up. He was young, probably around Dean’s age, only he looked far more tired and worn. His hair was sticking every which way, and there was a heavy exhaustion about his eyes. “Yes, this is my stop,” he said, verifying. “Thank you for waking me.”

“No problem, man. As much as I enjoy riding you all over town, I thought you’d be more comfortable in your own bed.”

It wasn’t until the words left Dean’s mouth that he realized how that might have sounded. He cringed only to find that the other man didn’t seem to notice at all. With a shaky smile of relief, Dean turned to head back to the driver’s seat. The man gathered his belongings and stood, shuffling towards the open door like he had dozens of times before. This time, however, he paused.

“Have a good night, um…?” he said, trailing off and tilting his head in a way that was frankly too adorable for Dean to ignore.

“Dean,” he filled in. “And you are?”

“Castiel,” the man replied.

“Castiel,” Dean repeated, glad to finally have a name to put with the face. “Have a good night too, Cas.”

With a faint smile, Castiel stepped off the bus. Dean closed the doors regretfully and drove away, comforted only by the thought that it was only twenty four hours before he’d see Cas again.

 

* * *

 

After that first interaction, something seemed to shift between Dean and Castiel. Now, when Castiel would get on the bus, it was inevitably with a simple but genuine, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean, of course, would always reply with, “Hey, Cas.” And, as usual, a smile.

It was a few days after the sleep incident when Dean decided to risk conversation with Castiel. There were a few people on the bus, but they all were in their own little bubbles with headphones or newspapers or silent, stoic glares. No one payed attention to Dean as he glanced over at Castiel, whose eyelids were drooping over a thick book.

“Hey, don’t go falling asleep on me again, Cas,” Dean said, causing those blue eyes to snap up, awake now.

“I won’t, my apologies.”

Dean laughed. “I’m just teasing. If you want to sleep, sleep. I’ll wake you up.”

Castiel shook his head, “No, I shouldn’t. I think I can manage to keep my eyes open for a few more blocks.”

“Not reading whatever you’re reading,” Dean replied. “What is it, anyway?”

“ _The Odyssey_ ,” Castiel replied. He snapped it shut. “But you’re right. There’s something about it that just puts me to sleep.”

Dean had to make a conscious effort to keep his eyes on the road and obey the traffic signs. He’d much rather stop the bus for a while, take a break while he chatted with Cas and devoted his whole attention to the other man. “Why are you reading it then?”

“I have to for class,” Castiel explained. “I’m an English major.”

It occurred to Dean then that the bus stop where he would pick Castiel up every day was within walking distance of the college in the city. He supposed he’d been too distracted to notice before. “Oh, really? That’s cool. My brother Sammy picked up a few classes there one summer.”

“What did he study?” Castiel asked. “There aren’t many people around in the summers; I might have had a class or two with him.”

“Pre-Law,” Dean answered, pride in his voice. “He’s on the fast track to law school now, actually. You’d probably remember him; he’s, like, tall as a sasquatch, with this stupid hair cut that’s like-“ Dean made a hand gesture.

“Hmm, I don’t think I know him,” Castiel said. “Where does he go now?”

“Stanford,” Dean said, palming the wheel to make a turn. “Kinda far, but I’m hoping he’ll move back when he graduates.”

Dean could see Castiel’s bus stop down the street. He was surprised and a little alarmed by the sinking feeling in his chest. He didn’t want to drop Castiel off just yet. In the past few minutes, he’d shared more about himself and his family than he had with anyone in months. It was kind of nice, refreshing. Dean stopped to let an old lady cross the road, silently telling her to take her time.

“Usually the college kids take the earlier buses. Do you have evening classes?” Dean asked, trying to prolong the conversation as long as he could.

“No,” Castiel answered. “I study in the library every night. It’s far less distracting than being at home.” Castiel must have caught Dean raising a brow in the mirror across the top of the windshield, for he elaborated, “I live in an apartment with my older brother, Gabriel. He is… less than respectful of my ideal quiet and calm study space.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, you’d get along well with Sam.”

When Dean glanced over, Castiel was smiling softly. It was with considerable regret that Dean pulled over at the bus stop. Like before, Castiel smiled before stepping off the bus. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

All the way through the next week, Dean talked to Castiel. He couldn’t even remember quite what they talked about, but apparently it was engaging enough that by Friday, Castiel didn’t even pull a book from his backpack when he got on the bus. Dean listened to Castiel’s frustrations with school, to his complaints about papers being due and teachers being “insufferable” - his words. In turn, Castiel listened to Dean curse at the poor drivers, or talk about what work he had to do on his precious 1967 Chevy Impala. In short, they became almost friends. Certainly the closest thing Dean had to a friend outside of Sam and Bobby, anyway. It wasn’t even that Dean was too preoccupied with working two jobs to make any friends. He’d met so many people along the way, it’s just he had never felt the desire to become friends with any of them like he did with Cas. He was just different.

On Friday night when Dean said goodnight to Castiel, it was with a definite sense of disappointment. Castiel didn’t ride the bus on weekends, and Dean was off on Sundays anyway. Still, after the easy twenty minutes of companionship that they had every day, going the whole weekend with no one to talk to sounded suddenly abhorrent to Dean. Usually he didn’t mind being alone, so Dean couldn’t help but feel that his disappointment was unjustified.

It was late Saturday night, just before Dean’s shift was ending, that he made his final round of stops. There were only two people left on the bus, and he dropped them off at a stop downtown, more than ready to head home for the night. As he went to close the doors, someone tapped on the glass, and Dean sighed, opening them a crack. “Sorry, buddy, I’m shuttin- Cas?”

Unmistakable blue eyes blinked at Dean as a dopey smile spread across Castiel’s face. “Dean!” he said happily. Far too happily to be normal, really. Dean had gotten used to Castiel’s calm, quiet demeanor, and this was not it. Castiel swayed on his feet, and Dean opened the doors the rest of the way, hurrying over to help Castiel inside.

“Cas, what are you doing out at three AM?” Dean asked, his brows knitting in concern. “You’re way too drunk to be out here alone. Aren’t you with anyone?”

Castiel shook his head, then made a face as if the sensation wasn’t a good one. “I was with my brother,” he said, slurring a bit. “He went home with- someone.”

Dean pursed his lips. “I’m gonna take you home, alright, Cas?”

“A’right.”

“And if your brother’s there, I’m going to have a word with him,” Dean muttered under his breath as he pulled out.

When he arrived at Castiel’s usual stop, Dean parked illegally and turned off the bus. He helped Castiel out of his seat and onto the sidewalk, lending him a steadying arm, and not minding at all how Castiel hung off him.

“Where do you live, Cas?” Dean asked. Castiel didn’t seem to hear him. More insistent this time, Dean asked again, “Cas, come on, tell me where you live.”

Castiel pointed this time, indicating a building down the sidewalk. Dean helped him there, using the name cards on the buzzer to find Castiel’s apartment number. Luckily, they only had to make it up one flight of stairs, and then they were standing in front of Castiel’s door as he fumbled for his keys. Gently, Dean took them from him and inserted them in the lock.

Once inside, Dean looked around. The place was fairly spacious, and probably nice when not littered with beer cans and video game controllers. A desk sat in the corner of the living room, everything carefully organized and clear of the junk that littered the rest of the room. Dean smiled. That had to be Castiel’s. As Dean closed the door behind him, Castiel was already making his way to his room, his path a little zigzagged, but his footing stable. In the interest of safety, Dean followed behind.

Either Castiel didn’t know Dean was there, or he didn’t care, for as soon as he reached his room, Castiel began undressing. He shed his coat near the doorway, then his button up on a chair by the door, leaving only a thin t-shirt that clung to his frame. Dean felt his cheeks heat and turned away as Castiel fumbled at his belt. After a minute, he gave up and flopped on his bed, still half clothed. Dean was almost thankful. Just looking at Castiel at the moment felt like taking advantage of him, and Dean wasn’t sure he could trust his thoughts to remain pure if Castiel showed any more skin.

Castiel groaned into his pillow, and Dean shook himself, remembering that his bus was illegally parked and if he got a ticket, he was on the hook for it. He took a moment to grab a blanket from the foot of Castiel’s bed and pull it up over him, then headed for the door, looking back briefly as he flicked the light switch off.

Dean headed back out through Castiel’s apartment, but paused as he passed Castiel’s desk. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed a notepad and pen and scribbled a quick note before he could rethink what he was doing.

 

 

_Looks like you had a rough night, but if you want a greasy breakfast to help with that hangover, call me._

 

Dean read over the note once, then signed his name and number. He replaced the pad and pen, ripped the note off the top of the stack and stuck it to the cover of one of Castiel’s notebooks. He hoped Castiel would see it just as much as he hoped it would go unnoticed forever and ever.

Dean hurried out of the apartment and didn’t look back.


	2. Two

It was nearing one o’clock in the afternoon when Dean began to lose hope. He had long since polished off a cup of coffee, read the newspaper from front to back, and was halfway through his third episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. reruns when his stomach growled again. He hadn’t eaten in the hopes that Castiel would find his note and maybe take him up on the offer of breakfast, but it was getting to the point that Dean was about to give up and pour himself some cereal.

On his way to the kitchen, however, the phone rang. Dean lunged for his cell as if it were a mouse trying to escape, and he didn’t even bother to check the ID before answering with a breathy, “Hello?”

“Hey, Dean- you okay?”

To Dean’s disappointment, it wasn’t Castiel’s deep, gravely voice on the other end, but Sam’s. “Oh, hey, Sam,” he replied, trying not to let his voice betray his feelings.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Sam asked, amused.

“No, uh-“ Dean rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the kitchen counter. “No.”

“Uh, huh. Sure,” Sam teased. “Hey, I was just calling to tell you that I’m off for a week at Thanksgiving. Mind if I crash at your place?”

Dean brightened. “Do I mind? Sammy, you know if you didn’t insist on taking those stupid summer classes, you could live here. Well, not _here_ , ‘cause you don’t want to live on an air mattress, but say the word and I’ll find a bigger place, you know that.”

Sam seemed a little tired on the other end, as if he was through with rehashing an old conversation. “When the time comes, I’ll let you know. The more classes I take, the sooner I can be done for good.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just miss having you around, man.” Dean traced his finger through a line of sugar that he’d spilled earlier. “There’s no one to be my wing man or to tell me to eat my greens.”

“I can still tell you to eat your vegetables, Dean. And as for the other part, I hope whoever you were waiting for calls you. Really.”

Dean didn’t reply.

“Listen, I gotta go. I’ve got a study session for a big test tomorrow. Call me later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied.

“Be careful, Dean.”

“See ya, Sammy.”

Dean hung up feeling both better and worse than before. He flipped the phone around in his hand a few times, surprised when it started to vibrate, then ring. Dean thought his heart might have sped up then. “Hello?” he answered.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was even deeper, even rougher than usual. Dean couldn’t tell if it was because of the night he’d had or because he was on the phone, but he didn’t much care either way.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean smile was probably evident in his voice.

There was a momentary pause. “I’m afraid I don’t remember much about last night, and I can’t figure out why you were in my apartment, or why the note you left is so accurate.”

Dean flushed, glad that Castiel couldn’t see his embarrassment. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to intrude on your place. It’s just that you were pretty drunk and I didn’t just want to drop you off.”

“No, that’s quite alright, I was just… confused. Drop me off?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “I was just ready to call it a night when you turned up drunk. You said your brother went home with someone. So I took you to your normal spot, helped you into your apartment, and that was that.”

The silence was a little longer this time. “Thank you, Dean. I feel like there are other things I should say, but my mind doesn’t want to form words at the moment.”

Dean laughed. “Sounds like you’re doing a pretty good job so far.”

“I believe the effort has given me a headache.”

Laughing again, Dean said, “Look, if you don’t want to go to breakfast, I totally get it. Just take some Advil, drink some coffee and take care of yourself, alright?”

“No, I- I would love to take you up on the offer if it is still open, it’s just that… I don’t think I am fit for public… Public,” Castiel finished, sounding more disjointed that Dean had ever heard him, sober, of course.

“I could come make you breakfast if you want. That way you don’t have to leave the house,” Dean blurted before the words he was saying were fully processed by his brain.

“Dean, I can’t ask you to do that, that would be very selfish of me.”

“Nah, I love cooking and I hardly ever get to cook for people now that Sammy’s gone. It’d be my pleasure,” Dean was both hopeful and terrified that Castiel would agree.

He did. “Alright, as long as you’re sure this isn’t an inconvenience.”

“Of course not,” Dean assured him. “I mean, I’m making myself food too.”

“Well, I suppose you know where I live.”

Dean blushed a bit. “Yeah, uh. That sounds a little creepy, huh?”

“I don’t think so,” Castiel replied. “I should take a shower… Ring the buzzer when you arrive, and I’ll let you in.”

“Will do,” Dean replied, trying fervently not to picture Castiel in the shower. “See you in a bit, Cas.”

“Thank you again, Dean.”

“My pleasure,” Dean answered, and he wasn’t lying one bit.

 

* * *

 

Dean stopped for bacon, but came out of the store with bisquick, hash browns, and a few other things that Castiel probably had in his kitchen already. Dean wasn’t taking any chances; if this was going to be his one time cooking for Cas, then he was going to do it right.

By the time Dean arrived at Castiel’s apartment, Castiel had cleaned himself up. He showed up at the door when Dean pressed the buzzer, looking tired and a little in pain, but refreshed. His hair stood up in haphazard wet spikes, and Dean couldn’t help but get a whiff of whatever brand of aftershave he used. It smelled wonderful.

“Hello, Dean. Here, let me take that,” Castiel said, reaching for Dean’s grocery bag with a frown. “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble with this.”

“None at all,” Dean promised, following Castiel as he led the way up the stairs. “How are you feeling?”

“I am… not used to copious amounts of alcohol. I fear my body is punishing me for it.”

Dean didn’t bother trying to hide his little laugh. Even though Castiel wasn’t facing Dean, Dean had gotten pretty good at sensing the furrowing of his brows or the cute scrunching of his nose without looking. He smiled. “Yeah, I didn’t have you pegged for the party type.”

“I’m not,” Castiel replied almost defensively as he turned the knob to his apartment. “It was my brother’s birthday, and he insisted I join him for ‘just a few’ drinks.” Castiel gave a tired little sigh as he set the bag on the counter, clearing a few pieces of trash out of the way first. “I should have learned by now never to trust him.”

Looking around the apartment, Dean asked, “Is he here?”

“No, he hasn’t returned yet.”

“He should never have left you alone in the state you were in,” Dean said, slightly angry on Castiel’s behalf. “You’re lucky it was my bus you tried to get on and not someone else’s. They would’ve just turned you away.”

Castiel looked up at Dean, showing his sincerity in his eyes. “I am lucky. I cannot thank you enough, Dean. And for this too, of course,” he said, gesturing to the bag on the counter.

“Nah, if it weren’t for you, I’d be sitting at home cooking for one. Just glad for the company, you know?”

Castiel smiled sympathetically. “I do know.” He slumped into a stool at the kitchen’s island. “So. What are we making?”

“You mean what am _I_ making,” Dean corrected, unloading a carton of blueberries from the bag. “You just sit there and rest.”

“I can help,” Castiel insisted. “Dean, if anything, I should be making _you_ breakfast.”

Dean shook his head. “How bout you owe me one when you’re back to your normal self.”

Castiel accepted the cup of coffee Dean slid towards him and wrapped his hands around the warm cup. “Deal.” He took a sip and closed his eyes. Dean watched him for a moment before realizing that he was still holding the coffee pot. He slid it back into the machine and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m making blueberry pancakes, hash browns, and bacon. Sound okay?”

“That sounds amazing,” Castiel admitted. By the look in his eyes and the tired bags underneath, Dean got the feeling he meant it. Dean set about mixing the pancake batter, pausing only to ask for flour or honey - Dean’s secret ingredient. After that, they lapsed into silence as he fired up a few burners and started cooking. “Do you work today?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head, his back to Castiel. “I’m off on Sundays.”

“Only Sundays?”

With a half shrug, Dean said, “Yeah. But I have shortened hours on Wednesdays.”

“You work a lot,” Castiel commented.

“I’ve got nothing better to do.” Dean flipped a pancake. “How’s your semester going?”

Castiel made a noise that was a mix between a sigh and a groan. “It was going. I fear this weekend has ground it to a halt.” Dean raised a brow in question. “I have a project due Tuesday,” Castiel explained. “And the chances of me getting any work done today are… slim.”

Dean tossed a glance over his shoulder. “If you want me to go- If you’re busy-“

“No, no,” Castiel interrupted. “Please don’t. You’re not the problem at all.” He looked towards the door. “My brother is bound to be stumbling in before long, and when he celebrates his birthday, it’s a weekend affair.”

“Ah,” Dean said, sliding a second pancake onto a plate. Moving to the other pans on the stove, he added a scoop of hash browns and a few slices of bacon before setting it in front of Castiel without comment. “So, another bar tonight?”

“More likely, this will become the bar,” Castiel said, waving a hand at the kitchen. His gaze settled on the food in front of him, “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean poured more batter in the pan. “Sure,” he replied. He was moments away from offering to let Castiel study in the quiet of his apartment, but something seemed to have cinched his throat shut. Instead, he made more pancakes and dropped a few on a plate for himself, piling it with potatoes and bacon, then sat across from Castiel. “How is it?” he asked, cutting into his own pancakes.

Castiel smiled a little. “I was waiting for you,” he said, picking up his fork and pulling his untouched plate closer.

“Even hungover, you’re polite,” Dean said, shaking his head a little. The door to the apartment slammed open, and Dean glanced that way.

“Too bad it doesn’t run in the family,” Castiel muttered under his breath. Dean shot him a smile as Gabriel burst into the kitchen, his shirt half unbuttoned and tie slung over his shoulder. He stopped dead in the doorway, then his face split into a grin.

“ _Cassie_!” he exclaimed, stepping over to punch Castiel on the arm. Castiel scowled into his coffee. “You finally got some action after, what - a rough eternity?” In a stage whisper, he added, “And with a hot piece of ass too. I don’t feel so bad leaving you last night now.”

Dean was pretty sure his face was bright red, but he decided to turn that embarrassment into anger. “You should,” he said, his voice gruff. “Cas and I didn’t do anything last night, and we didn’t meet at the bar. I found him wandering around the streets in the middle of the night, drunkenly trying to get on my bus.”

Gabriel’s grin turned to a frown. “Oh, uh-“

“You shouldn’t have left him alone that drunk.”

“But you found him, so-“

“Gabriel, just admit you’re an ass so we can go back to eating breakfast,” Castiel said in a tired monotone.

“I’m an ass,” Gabriel acquiesced. He spread his hands. “I shouldn’t have left you - Kala was _hot_ though.” Dean glared at him. “But that’s uh, beside the point. Thanks for bringing him back.”

Dean grunted. “Next time, don’t make me have to.”

“I won’t,” Gabriel promised. “Am I free to shower now?”

Castiel nodded. “Please do.”

Gabriel breezed out of the room, tossing over his shoulder, “Oh, and Balthazar and the Garrison are coming over in a few hours. Fair warning!”

With a sigh, Castiel took a long drink of coffee. He looked like he was going to fall asleep at any minute.

“The Garrison?” Dean asked when the shower started up down the hall.

Castiel cut a corner off his pancakes. “Gabriel’s friends think they’re a rock band.”

“Are they?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s response was a half shrug as he said, “I guess. They can play about four songs, but can usually mess around long enough to stretch it into a half hour set.”

Dean let out a little laugh. “Sounds like a quality show.”

“Ironically, the quality goes up the more drunk they are.”

Laughing again, Dean finished off his food. “Well. I was thinking it was a good thing I’d be gone before they came, but now I’m not so sure. They sound interesting.”

Castiel shook his head. “Only for the first hour or two.” There was a pause while Dean searched for a reply. Castiel swallowed, then said, “If you would like to stay and meet them, you are, of course, welcome.”

Dean smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but something tells me that a combination of Gabriel and the Garrison is more than I’m mentally prepared to handle.”

“You would be correct. Though I have yet to figure out how to mentally prepare myself for their arrival,” Castiel deadpanned.

Gathering the dishes, Castiel headed over to the sink and turned on the water. “Thank you for making breakfast, Dean.”

“Here, let me help,” Dean said, standing up and heading for the pans on the stove.

“Don’t-“ Castiel said, putting a hand on Dean’s forearm to stop him. Dean glanced down at the touch, and Castiel immediately released him. “If we leave the food for Gabriel, he’ll have to clean it up.”

Dean laughed. “I’ve tried that trick on Sammy, but didn’t always work.”

“It very rarely works on Gabriel, but I’m willing to bet he’s still feeling guilty about last night,” Castiel reasoned. “But even if they have to sit for a day or two, you cooked. I can’t very well let you clean too.”

“I don’t mind.”

Castiel’s smile was soft and secret. “I do.”

There was another silence as Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted towards the door. “Well, uh…”

“Thank you for breakfast, Dean. I don’t mean to keep you from your plans today,” Castiel said.

Dean smiled. “Plans like a Doctor Sexy marathon? You’re fine.”

Castiel matched Dean’s smile. The shower shut off, and the sound of curtains rings scraping across the rod echoed from the hall. Castiel let out a little sigh. “I better go see what work I can get done before the… _festivities_ start.”

“Right,” Dean said, then paused. “Um. If you don’t… If you want somewhere quiet to work, it’s only me in my apartment. Um, not that you- You probably have the library, though, so you don’t want to come to my crappy ass-“

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted. “I’d… appreciate somewhere to study, if it won’t bother you. I’ll be quiet, you won’t even know I’m there.”

“Cas, it’s no problem. Even silent company is better than none, right?” Dean asked, laughing a shaky laugh. “Do you want me to drive you now, or do you want my address to come later?”

Castiel chuckled a little, and Dean gave a start. He hadn’t heard Castiel laugh before. “Dean, I don’t have a car. Hence the bus.”

“Right. Hence the bus,” Dean repeated, chagrined. “Does that mean you’d like a ride?”

“I’d love one,” Castiel replied, pushing away from the sink. “Just let me gather my things.”

“Sure.”

Castiel left Dean standing in the kitchen, his heart racing. He hadn’t had anyone over in his apartment for weeks. He hadn’t had anyone whose name he remembered in months - apart from Sammy, of course. A while ago, Dean got tired of picking up nameless girls in bars, and since then, he had been alone. It was hard to make friends with hours like his in a job that didn’t really allow for co-worker friendships.

Mentally, Dean scanned his apartment as he remembered it, hoping he hadn’t left anything embarrassing out. He knew his place was a little messy, but considering Castiel lived with Gabriel, he hopefully wouldn’t mind too much. When Castiel returned a few minutes later, he had his familiar backpack slung over one shoulder, and his tan jacket in his hand. “Ready?” Dean asked.

“I hope so.”

Dean hoped he was too.

 


End file.
